Nightfall Begins
by JaxTheKnife
Summary: A story set in the Freedom City RPG environment featuring both established characters from the published works as well as original characters and situations created by the author. POV will be split between Nightfall's POV and a third person POV, as indicated.


Nightfall Begins

A story set in the Freedom City RPG environment featuring both established characters from the published works as well as original characters and situations created by the author.

POV will be split between Nightfall's POV and a third person POV, as indicated.

Chapter 1

Now

Nightfall: There has to be an easier way to do this. I mean, I'm as willing as the next guy to fight these yahoos with superpowers, but give me a freaking break. A guy whose superpower is that he's _lucky? _How in the hell do you fight that?

Guy I was up against went by the name Wildcard, and since he was usually able to trump his enemies with his ability to give himself good luck while bad luck-ing them, he was far more of a pain in the butt than his costume - the guy dressed like a court jester - would imply. So far, I had tried to take him down with a taser dart (it misfired), a shot from my Stungun (missed), and a good old-fashioned right cross (damn near broke my hand on the door of that bank vault). Fool he might look like, but the guy was no joke.

Let me start from the beginning of this whole situation. I was in the City Center branch of Eastern Seaboard bank… or rather, Jackson Cole was. My Nightfall gear, habitually close enough to use, was in the false bottom of my briefcase. I have to hand it to Dixon, my armorer and tech guy, it was nice not having to stash the _whole_ costume under my suit. Even Brooks Brothers would have a hard time tailoring a three piece to that extent. I was meeting with one of the VP's, Alex Johnson, making arrangements for the corporate accounts my relocating company would need. Why was I doing it instead of one of my own vice-presidents? Because I like to keep a close handle on my business, especially in the early phases.

Mr. Johnson was a typical young up and comer, actually not much younger than myself. Of course, I took over my company at 23, barely three years earlier. I was something of an unusual case. He was running numbers, I was checking my email on my smartphone. The local cell carrier, Nova Communications, was well respected. I made a note to set up a meeting with their management to propose a joint venture. As I was considering the best approach for that proposal, gunshots and screams rung out from the lobby.

I did not actually witness what was happening, but I saw the security video… what there was of it… enough times to relate what was happening. Four men in overcoats, odd enough on a clear Spring day, entered the bank and spread out across the open floor plan. At the same time, they threw off the coats, revealing automatic weapons and garish costumes. Three of the four wore black and red coveralls and ski masks that they quickly rolled over their faces. The fourth man… was Wildcard. The costume had a fool's hat and was adorned with bells, but ones that did not ring. Now I had read some info on this guy, and according to it the "bells" were actually mini-explosives. Wildcard only rarely had to use the things, what with his luck-manipulation ability, but it was something to keep in mind.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Wildcard and I will be robbing both you and this bank today!" He paused, snapped his fingers, and every camera in the place developed an instant power failure. "I'll thank you to keep your hands away from the silent alarms, tellers, they won't work anyway. If everyone behaves, we can finish this with no one developing any additional holes in their bodies."

E-Sea branches were actively guarded, and the guards were armed. Unfortunately, most of the guards were retired police, well past their prime, and most had not drawn a weapon in years… if ever. Abner Schultz was the guard on duty at the branch that day, and as Johnson and I watched (by this point we had ventured slightly out of the office), Schultz shakily drew his sidearm and pointed it at Wildcard. "Now, now, you just drop those guns right now, you hear? Put 'em right down."

"No, no, this ain't the guy to try that with…," I whispered. Johnson looked at me, and I had no choice, I needed to move. Using a move I learned in a Tibetan temple, I put Johnson out with a nerve pinch. Hated to do it, but Wildcard would kill that guard without a second thought. Unless I stopped him. I popped open the briefcase and pulled out the hardware. Seconds later, Nightfall was on the scene. Activating the comlink in my hood, I connected to the Lair. And no. I don't care how much Dix begs, I am _not_ going to refer to it as the "Nightcave."

"Dixon, I hope you're at your desk, I have a situation here."

"Where else would I be, boss?" came the quick answer. "What's going on?"

"Wildcard. 3 mooks. Trying to rob the Center branch of E-Sea. He's disabled every alarm, camera, whatever in the place. Get the PD on the way and keep the channel open, I gotta try to stop this nut."

"On it." I slipped out of the office and kept low, staying as out of sight as possible. Going into action in the middle of the day was not my preferred method, but desperate times and all that. I popped over the half wall, Stungun drawn and braced on the railing.

"Wildcard! Do as the man says and drop the gun, you and your cronies. Or I'm dropping you." The jester suited crook looked up at where I was perched. I knew if I took one of these nitwits out, there was a good chance the rest would start firing, but I was hoping to rattle them. They couldn't have planned on running into me here.

"Well, well, who do we have here? A masked man with a gun. And here I was under the impression that the League was all out of town, BOB?!" Wildcard shot a deadly look at one of his henchmen. The guy developed a worried look. Probably because he was worried he would be catching a bullet for his apparent screwup. Not that I had any pity for a petty crook, but I decided to throw the guy a bone.

"Your flunky wasn't wrong, clown. I'm not a member of the Freedom League." Not yet anyway. Heck, I had only been in town for a week.

Then

Jefferson Cole was riding in the back of his stretch limo and pondering, as he did from time to time, his good fortune. He was a blonde giant of a man, standing a solid 6 feet 4 inches and built like an athlete. His most distinguishing feature was his thick hair and beard, nicknamed "the Mane" by Cole's wife (as well as the society pages). Cole had inherited a sizable fortune from his parents, but had doubled and redoubled it through the use of shrewd business dealings, and by tapping into the burgeoning "superhero tech" industry. Providing technology and support to the various super groups that had become all the rage in the mid 70's through early 90's. Eventually, one of the main sources of business, the Liberty League operating out of Freedom City became closed due to the city mayor, Franklin Moore, outlawing superheroes within the city. The Liberty League moved to nearby New York City, but were disbanded by Centurion after the deaths of two newer heroes. There were plenty of other hero groups, and individual and governmental contracts to fill as well.

Jefferson was also, covertly, supplying tech and support to a group of upstart outlaw heroes in Freedom City itself, a group calling itself FORCE Ops. Freedom City was in a vulnerable state without its heroes to defend it, and Jefferson hated to see that. Currently, the Coles and the company, Cole Industries, were based in Chicago, with branch offices in New York, Dallas, and Los Angeles. Chicago was always going to be home to Jefferson, as it had been where he had been born and raised. He glanced over at his wife. The beautiful former Aspen Tanner had been a beauty pageant winner, a successful supermodel, and had tried a turn at acting before Cole had won her heart. Sadly, she was unable to have children, so she and Jefferson had adopted a newborn foster child. They named him Jackson Martin Cole.

Jackson was sitting on the floor of the limo, playing, as usual, with his superhero action figures. Jefferson was often amazed at how much Jackson resembled his foster mother, they had similarly dark hair and ice-blue eyes, but Jackson's head of dark waves might even rival Jefferson's one day. There were enough similarities that unless people were told, they simply assumed Jackson was the Coles natural son.

Jefferson Cole knew that his position as a public figure made himself and his family targets for the more villainous of supers, so he had a number of precautions set up. The limo itself was armored and checked religiously for any kind of sabotage. And the driver, Victor Rado, was a former Navy SEAL turned private security specialist. The Coles' mansion was one of the most secure sites in the greater Chicago area, one of the largest in the Lincoln Park suburb. Unfortunately, all the preparation in the world cannot account for everything.

The limousine was indeed armored, but not proof against an RPG. When the tank buster hit in front of the vehicle, it was only Rado's quick reactions that prevented immediate fatalities. Rado fought his way free, and used the now-wrecked limo as cover trying to get to the passenger compartment. Jefferson was already trying to work the door open, but the frame was bent enough that it proved impossible. Rado shouted, "Try the window!" Wonder of wonders, this proved to be successful. Jefferson handed Jackson out.

"Get him clear! Go!" Rado grabbed the youngster and ran to the side of the road, taking cover behind other parked cars. The boy seemed to be in a sort of shock, eyes wide and silent, but otherwise unhurt. Instructing the boy not to move, Rado turned to run back to the limo and help further. And then it happened.

A second RPG hit the limo. Dead center. It actually lifted the stretch Lincoln off the street a foot or two before it crashed back down. Now a twisted mass of enflamed metal, there was no way anyone had survived. Rado was stunned silent, but he heard screaming. At first it seemed far away, but as he regained his senses, Rado realized it was directly next to him.

It was coming from young Jackson Cole.

Something changed in Jackson after that day. It seemed that he went from 7 years old to adulthood in a day. It came out that it had been an attack made by a super criminal… a note was left on the roof from which the attack had come, it read, "This is what will happen when you supply hardware to heroes." Jackson knelt by the graves of his parents a few days after the funeral and after his eighth birthday. It was a stormy, windy night, as windy as Chicago can be. In front of the boy was a box containing his superhero toys, toys he had refused to touch since the murder. "Where were you? You heroes fly all over the world and into space and everywhere. Where were you when my parents needed help? Where? WHERE!?" Jackson picked up the box and threw the toys in a wide arc, scattering them in the storm. "I hate you! I hate you all!" The boy got up, turned and walked away. His heroes had failed him. He would never trust them again.

As the sole heir to his parents' fortune, Jackson would, upon turning eighteen, be one of the richest men in the world. In the ten year interim, the company would be under the control of Robert De Weston, Jefferson's longtime friend and trusted attorney. As for Jackson, he was being sent to California, to live under the care and guidance of Lee Toshiro Cantrell, another friend of Jefferson's, as well as being a masked hero in his own right as the mysterious Whisper. Under Cantrell's guidance, Jackson learned the art of ninjutsu, and the art of achieving inner peace. Upon reaching 18, Jackson deferred his college entrance and returned to Chicago, to the mansion in which he had lived with his parents. De Weston met with the young man and had a number of revelations to make.

"Jackson, your father was nothing if not a well-prepared man. In the event of his and Aspen's death, I was assigned to read this to you as soon as you came of age. It's a letter from him." The lawyer unsealed the envelope. Jackson sat in something of a surprised silence, not having expected anything so personal. He knew De Weston had a number of items to review, all relating to the inheritance, but the letter was a surprise. "Shall I, or would you rather…," he asked, holding out the paper.

"No, please, go ahead."

"All right, then. 'Jackson. If this is being read to you, it means that something terrible has happened to your mother and myself. It means that at least part of your life is something we missed. I am so, so sorry for that. Your mother and I treasured every minute of every day that we had with you, please never forget that. You will, of course, inherit the company and all that we have left behind, but control will only transfer to you after you have completed at least a 4 year college degree. The major is yours to choose, but I hope you will pick something that will help you in running Cole Industries. Mr. De Weston has all of the particulars, they are spelled out in the will itself.

'Now I need to tell you something that is going to come as a shock, so I want you to brace yourself. While you have been the greatest and proudest thing that your mother and I have ever known, we are not your birth parents. You were adopted by us when you were just an infant. We had always meant to tell you when you were old enough to understand, but I have to assume if you are hearing this, we never had the opportunity. I know this may be hard to hear, son, but please remember, we could not have loved you any more if you had been ours by birth.

'As far as your birth parents go, the only thing we know, the only thing we were ever told, is that they came from Freedom City back east. If you want to find them, that is up to you, I wish I had more information to give you, but at least I know you'll have the resources to fund your search. If you choose not to do so, that's your choice as well. You will not be in any way disrespecting our memories whatever you choose.

'Most of all, the most important thing I will say to you today, son, is this: be happy. Do something positive with your life. Be the man that I know you can be. And always remember that your mom and I love you and will watch over you always.' " De Weston refolded the paper. "That's all it says. Are you… are you all right?"

"I'm stunned, of course. But I can understand why they didn't tell me before now, I mean I was a child when they died. But… wow, this is something to think about."

"Would you rather put off the rest of the will for another time? I would certainly understand."

"No, no, let's get it done now. I will need to make some decisions but they'll wait." De Weston and Jackson spent a number of hours going over the details of the inheritance. In the end, Jackson asked the lawyer to continue running the company for a number of additional years. This came as a complete shock to De Weston.

"I can certainly continue on, Jackson, but what are you going to be doing in the interim?"

"Without going into too much detail, sir, I'll just say that I need to have a chance to find myself. Or rather, find who I'm going to be. I have a number of contacts given to me by Sensei Cantrell that will give me… some training that I want before I go on to college. Also, if you could, make a couple of contacts at Freedom City University for me. I suspect that may be where I choose to pursue my degree."


End file.
